


So This Is Love

by mybeanieandme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A potential historical event they might have influenced, Aziraphale goes to the movies, Confessions, Historical AU, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical shade, M/M, Pining, Set in the 1950s, So many references to Cinderella, Soft Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybeanieandme/pseuds/mybeanieandme
Summary: February of the year 1950 had been particularly dreary and cold and he was quite alone. The only other creature he truly knew on earth was off in the Americas drumming up a temptation.orAziraphale is lonely the day after Valentine's Day so he goes to see a movie and has an unexpected visitor.





	So This Is Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I fudged history a bit as Cinderella was originally released in the USA on February 15th 1950 and the vinyl record wasn’t released until later. Anyway. There is a lot of historical shade being thrown in this fic. I have a lot of feelings about certain American presidents and they're not positive.
> 
> Also: The title is taken from a Cinderella song. While Cinderella is not my favorite Disney film, the songs are some of the nearest and dearest to my heart and play my emotions like a fiddle. 
> 
> No one has proof read this.

He was not one for the cinema. When motion picture films were being invented, Aziraphale had hoped that it might be a passing fad. He wasn’t afraid that they would take the place of books per say. There was no way that books were ever going away, he had been on earth long enough to know that some form of the written word would always be dominant, but cinema was thirsty for materials and people were very fond of adapting books. Aziraphale had never seen an accurate film adaptation of any of his beloved books and so he’d given up going to the theater. It was for other people, but not for him. 

February of the year 1950 had been particularly dreary and cold and he was quite alone. The only other creature he truly knew on earth was off in the Americas drumming up a temptation with a trigger happy American president for yet another war and he’d been told not to intercede. Heaven had seen what that particular president was capable of and had written him off completely as a lost cause.

So there Aziraphale was, alone on Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him. He had known all of the alleged Saint Valentines (or Valentinus) for whom the holiday might have been named and he knew the truth (though he would never share.) He did love the festivities ever so much. The pagans had thrown such amazing feasts back in the day and even the modern rendition’s focus on chocolates suited him just fine. It wasn’t until about nine years ago that it occurred to him that he hadn’t ever celebrated the holiday with someone he loved. Or, at least, he didn’t realize he’d loved that somebody he’d spent a few Valentine’s Days with when they’d spent them together. In fact, he still hadn’t told that somebody that he loves him but he thought one of these Valentine’s Days he might. 

All week he had kept the bookshop open the most he ever had, 8 o’clock in the morning until 8 o’clock in the evening just to keep himself busy. There had been a few customers, the more discerning book readers looking for special presents for their special Valentines, but it wasn’t nearly as many people as he had hoped to pass the time. No, by the time February 15th rolled around he had reorganized most of the shelves and dusted every inch of the shop twice.

He took to the streets with his largest tartan umbrella as the rain beat down all around him. Even the day after, the world seemed overemphasized with happy couples holding hands and sitting in restaurants together. Azriaphale wanted to be somewhere dark where he would not have to be alone with his thoughts and so he gave picture films another chance.

The nearest theater had two pictures to choose from. The first was a thriller about a crime novelist so the angel immediately took it out of contention leaving only a hand drawn animated feature by an up and coming studio house called Walt Disney. 

There were very few people in the theater with him, which suited him best. Better people not see him here lest they think he made a habit of such things. 

As far as the adaptation of the fairy tale went, Aziraphale didn’t think they did a very good job. They’d added more child-friendly things to the story like talking mice and removed scarier things like dancing in hot irons until you die. They also added musical numbers. Aziraphale had to admit there was something quite magical about the whole affair and he found himself humming along with A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes. It struck him like lighting and he understood now, at least in part, the draw of this magical art form that could whisk you far away from the here and now of your troubles. When the moment came for Cinderella to finally dance with her prince he found himself in tears. 

“So this is love?” Cinderalla’s voice over sang as they twirled together on the ballroom floor. When the couple harmonized on the line “the key to all heaven is mine” Aziraphale wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor, which, he supposed he could have.  
“My heart has wings, and I can fly,” they sang as they went to the fountain. “So this is the miracle that I’ve been dreaming of-.” Aziraphale went straight to the ugliest crying face and almost drove the other viewers out of the cinema. 

The skies, much like Aziraphale’s heart, had cleared almost completely of trouble. “So this is love,” Aziraphale sang on towards his way home and then he hummed the rest as he went to the nearest phonograph parlour (or whatever it was they were calling them these days) to purchase the songs he had just heard on film. 

Back at the shop, he unearthed his gramophone and set the needle to work. He sat in his favorite chair and imagined himself at a ball swept up in the arms of a handsome and charming prince. What would his prince look like? Tall and handsome? Definitely. With bright hair, a dark suit and a flash of yellow eyes behind dark glasses? He only knew one dance which he doubted his prince, whoever the mystery man was, knew at all. Suppose he could learn another dance? A ballroom step? Did Cinderella know how to dance before she met her prince? Had the magic that had given her mice the ability to speak also lead her to know just how to dance with her prince? 

The sound of the record reaching its conclusion stirred him out of his reverie. He moved the needle over and returned the gramophone to its proper place. The clock read seven twenty seven and he supposed he could go for a spot of dinner or he could make himself a cup of cocoa and retire for the evening. He did the latter, indulging in two chocolate biscuits and taking an original printing of the Brothers Grimm version of the cinderella story from 1812 up to bed with him. 

He awoke in the middle of the night to the faint sound of Ilene Woods’ voice drifting up through the floorboards from the shop. It was strange, he hadn’t had a burglary since Dickensian times and had put several miracles towards thwarting any potential new ones. 

Aziraphale put on his housecoat and walked cautiously downstairs, turning on key lights as he went. 

But downstairs was seemingly empty save for the gramophone, which it appeared had elected to turn on all by itself. 

“MmmmMmm,” Ilene Woods hummed. 

“So this is love?” Aziraphale asked no one in particular as he looked around.

“Tell me, angel,” came a voice from behind him. “Is a dream a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep?”

“Crowley?!” Aziraphale jumped nearly out of his corporeal form. 

Crowley lifted the needle off the record. “Interesting choice for you,” he said but not in a patronizing way. 

Aziraphale looked bashfully anywhere but at Crowley’s eyes. “I went to the cinema earlier- and- picked this up on the way home,” he confessed, although he owned no one an explanation. 

“It’s quite sweet,” the demon said, also not patronizingly, which was surprising. He didn’t look like himself. He looked absolutely exhausted. He looked the way you looked after completing an errand that has nearly bested you. Suit jacket disheveled and glasses askew, it must have been raining again as Crowley was wet about the bits that an umbrella couldn’t quite cover. 

“Can I get you a drink?” the angel asked, gesturing to a chair. 

“Satan, yes,” Crowley nodded and he collapsed into the mustard covered upholstery. 

After looking at his wines and liquors Aziraphale concluded that this was a vodka situation so he brought the bottle and two glasses just incase he wanted one or Crowley needed one for each hand. 

They sat quietly together in facing chairs as Crowley took two gulps straight out of the bottle before filling a glass. 

“I take it- America didn’t go well?” Aziraphale asked tentatively.

Crowley let out a humorless laugh. “I barely needed to go. I dare say he would’ve gotten there on his own honestly after what he did before.” He took another drink out of the bottle and popped the cap back on. 

“Are your people- particularly interested in this- event?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure exactly what Crowley had been sent over to instigate. 

“They thrive on human misery so I’m sure they’re elated. But Satan it’s going to be awful,” Crowley sipped out of the glass this time. “Humans can be so cruel to each other on their own they hardly need a shove from us. But-.”

Aziraphale waited.

“But this one is different,” Crowley said finally. “War scars souls in such different ways than anything else. Particularly good for new ways of torture but there are so many ways to torture already. And I just have this feeling- that those poor bastards are going to be absolutely miserable.” “But not in the fun way-“ went without saying. The misery caused by power outages where people lose everything in their icebox and take it out on the milk man or the misery caused by spoiled meats from said icebox causing horrible food poisoning. Inconvenient stuff that lead to more sins and depravity is what Crowley lived for. They’d both seen enough wars to know what happens to the human soul. You did not need to be Agnes Nutter to divine that future. But if you had been, you could have seen the importance of the division at the 38th parallel and future nuclear proliferation to the Dark One’s plan. And you could have known that all the pain and strife would come to be called The Forgotten War. But that was years to come and this was now. 

Aziraphale stood up, walked the two paces to the demon, took the glass out his hand and took both of the demon’s hands in his own. He wasn’t quite sure why but it felt like the right thing to do. Crowley looked up at him, really looked at him for the first time since entering the bookshop. 

“Did you go see a movie about a cinder maid, angel?” Crowley asked, holding Aziraphale’s hands tighter than he’d expected. 

“I did,” Aziraphale nodded. “And I dare say I had quite a good time.” 

“Yes?” Crowley asked.

“Yes-,” the angel nodded again. “You see- I was quite lonely and so I went to the cinema- and I watched a cinder maid fall in love with a prince.” 

“Did he love her back?” asked the demon. 

”He did,” Azriaphale answered. “They danced together in a grand ballroom.”

“Show me?” Crowley requested and suddenly they were both on their feet. 

Aziraphale felt silly as he started to lead, mimicking what he’d seen on screen. Crowley snapped his fingers and the gramophone started again where it had left off. 

“So this is what makes life divine?” Ilene Woods posed to the world and her prince. They did a semblance of a waltz until the song concluded and Aziraphale was hot under the collar. 

Crowley’s face was very close to his and he smelled like rain and vodka. And then Crowley kissed him like the prince had kissed Cinderella. 

Then Crowley seemed startled by his own actions and tried to politely pull away but Aziraphale held him tightly and Crowley gave into it. The heavenly creature radiated warmth, love, and light and it was all he ever wanted and more. 

The record ended and Crowley watched it spinning round and round. “I didn’t think gramophones could play records.”

“They can’t,” Aziraphale confessed. “I maybe have done a small miracle- I just can’t get rid of it. It’s been with me for ages. It still works- it seems silly. Planned obsolesce.” He pulled away reluctantly to lift the needle and return the record to its sleeve.

Crowley watched him silently.

“Why did you come here, Crowley?” Aziraphale plucked up his courage and turned to ask. 

The expression Crowley wore said that he himself had not considered why. “I don’t know,” he shrugged after a moment. “After- all that-. Well-. I just wanted to see you is all- I guess.” 

“I missed you,” the angel confessed. “Especially yesterday.”

“What was yesterday?” The demon asked softly.

“The day of Saint Valentine,” Aziraphale answered.

“What a bastard he was,” Crowley said to no one in particular. 

“He was a little bit,” Aziraphale agreed and then chuckled. 

Crowley smiled for the first time since he’d been there, truly smiled. 

“Would you like to spend the night?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Yes,” Crowley nodded before the angel could finish. “Yes, please.” He looked at the sofa Aziraphale kept in his office. “If you’ll lend me your sofa-.”

The angel scoffed, “there’s enough room for two in my bed.” Crowley looked surprised. “I can’t have you down here- touching books,” Aziraphale tried to save face. 

“You couldn’t tempt me to touch one of your dusty old books, angel,” Crowley frowned.

“That’s right,” Aziraphale responded primly. “Angels can’t tempt.”

Upstairs, Crowley stripped to his undergarments and climbed into the less mussed side of Aziraphale’s bed. Aziraphale pulled the covers up and tucked him in properly before sliding in beside him. He lifted the Brother’s Grimm and opened it to the page he’d fallen asleep on, dimming the lamp so as not to disturb his guest. His whole body felt like a live wire as Crowley curled up beside him facing the wall. 

After a time, Crowley grew still and Aziraphale finally felt like he could relax but only a little. He kept rereading the same paragraph over and over as his mind kept repeating “so this is love?”

“I love you, angel,” Crowley said so faintly Aziraphale thought he’d imagined it. 

“I love you, Crowley” he answered as statement and response just incase he had been imagining things. 

The demon turned over to look up at him sideways from bed, his soft yellow eyes looked so gentle in the lamp light it made the angel’s heart ache. Crowley reached for his hand that was not holding the book and laced their fingers together. Aziraphale set the book down and slid under the covers, turning to face his sleepy guest. They kissed gently and fell asleep.


End file.
